


Horseplay

by lankyguy



Series: A Barbarous Age [3]
Category: Heroes & Villains: Richard the Lionheart, Heroes and Villains (TV), Robin Hood (BBC 2006), Robin Hood - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lankyguy/pseuds/lankyguy
Summary: Will and Luke reunite! Roger goes to London and meets a new friend.





	

Will Scarlett found himself torn; he was beyond excited at being reunited with Luke, happier than he’d been in months, but he was worried. Luke was clearly up to no good.

Fulke Fitzwarin found himself playing adult in the group, continually silencing everyone in the tavern. They were entirely too boisterous, and paying too little mind to what they said. Fulke worried that their identities might be compromised. Even more compromised, he reminded himself. As a result of his machinations very little of consequence was talked about. 

“When did you get...” Luke started.

“In town?” Fulke interrupted quickly. 

“Yes, in town,” Luke quickly agreed catching his glance. Will could do little but grin at his younger brother; he was so delighted to see him!

“We only just arrived. I was worried for you,” Will had an arm on Luke’s shoulder.

“You could have written,” Luke said stiffly.

“I’ve been on the road, as have you,” Will pointed out.

Luke nodded in agreement and put an affectionate hand on Will’s back. His brother seemed to have gained a little weight. It looked good on him.

“We will talk once we’re safely out of town,” Will whispered under his breath. Luke squeezed Will’s back again to indicate his acceptance.

Roger Godberd was completely distracted. The Scarlett boys were altogether too close, too affectionate for him. Even when taking to different people their hands sought each other out. They seemed to maintain a loose, almost subconscious contact with each other. When Will got up to settle with the owner, Luke was aware of where he was at every moment. Roger could feel Luke’s attention focused on his brother like an arrow shot. It was quite startling. One expected this from twins but not from brothers separated by several years in birth. 

That they were both comely in starkly different ways was an added distraction. Luke was the more athletic at first glance, a handsome heroic-looking lad on the verge of manhood. Will was taller, almost willowy, and though sometimes awkward-looking, he was striking. Your eyes could not help but to gravitate towards him.

Fulke noticed his friend’s stare. 

“Are you all right?” he smiled.

Roger’s only response was an enthusiastic nod.

The next morning after breakfast they quickly made their way down the road to London. Within a mile they stepped off the beaten path and into the wood.

Will and Luke immediately dismounted and hugged again!

Roger was taken aback. One would have thought they had only just seen each other, and had not spent the night talking to each other. 

“I’ve been so worried for you,” Will said quickly, holding Luke’s head.

“Where have you been all this time? You really left for the Holy Land? Robin told me when they got back but… Wait! What happened? Where’s Djaq?” Luke sputtered. He felt Will stiffen in his arms, and he pulled back.

“No. She’s fine,” Will reassured him quickly, “she’s fine. Things just got complicated…”

“Couldatol’ you that!” Luke cuffed him in the head. “Running off to the Holy Land Mister too-big-for-his-breeches – you belong here!”

“I know,” Will said, the smile returning to his face, he punched his brother back. Everyone watched while Will and Luke hit each other, and tumbled to the ground wrestling. Conrad and Cecil exchanged wide grins.

“Sitting a little tight in the saddle?” Fulke teased Roger.

“Shut it.” Roger hissed. 

Fulke chuckled and dismounted, joining the Scarlett men on the ground. He pulled them apart.

“King Richard agrees with you, Luke. Will does belong in England,” Fulke said, putting an affectionate arm around him. “He’s knighted your brother, and set him a mission.”

“You a knight!” Luke laughed. “That’s rich!”

“Sod off, you! I earned it,” Will spat. Happily, he thought they were getting back into their usual game of one-upmanship, when they fought for their father’s attention, but Luke did not react the way he used to.

“I know,” Luke said grimly. “I know it cost you.” He knew that Will would not have returned home for nothing. Luke could see the change in Will in his eyes; a flickering sadness that never went away.

They stared at each other for a long moment, before finally breaking into wide grins. Their companions looked at each other with relief.

“Where were you boys headed?” Roger asked, climbing off his horse. Fulke had pulled their map out and spread it on the ground. Small rocks held down the corners.

“We’re going to Loxley,” Edmund jabbed a finger at a point west of London.

“Locksley is farther north,” Will corrected him.

“No. Loxley not Locksley,” Edmund said.

“What? Are you having me on?”

“No.” Fulke told him. “There’s another town called Locksley. It’s spelt differently though.”

“You can spell?” Will asked Fulke with a gleam in his eye.

“Hey, I know things,” Fulke protested gamely.

“Will doesn’t,” Luke snorted.

“I can still beat you up little brother.”

“You can try.”

“Boys, focus,” Fulke tried to bring them back from the brink of another tussle. Though, honestly he would have enjoyed the spectacle.

“Fine,” Will said. “Why are you going to Loxley?”

“The locals have been having problems,” Luke explained. “A member of the local gentry, a manor owner named Robert Fitz Oto, made the mistake of standing up to one of Prince John’s lackey’s. They’re holding him in jail, as an example.”

“We mean to go and rescue him,” Edmund said proudly.

“Who are you?” Will asked.

“This is Edmund Chauncey,” Luke said. “Ran into him in Scarborough. He also ran with your old crew in Sherwood.”

“Only for a bit,” Edmund said.

“He ran afoul of Vaisey,” Luke said proudly. “So of course we became best mates. We’ve been on the road since.”

“How did you hear about this?” Fulke asked. “About Fitz Oto, I mean.”

“It’s all over London,” Luke said.

“It’s too dangerous,” Will said flatly. 

“And just what were you doing in Sherwood?” Luke cocked his head at him and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s too dangerous for you to go alone, we will go with you,” Will finished.

“It is on the way to my lands,” Fulke agreed.

“But…” Roger sputtered.

“Don’t worry, we’ll set you right in London,” Fulke smiled.

That wasn’t what Roger was worried about; he didn’t want to miss out on anything. It was something Luke understood immediately. Will had left him behind to go and live the outlaw life in Sherwood.

“We’ll save something for you in Loxley – if you don’t take too long,” Luke whispered in Roger’s ear. He gave him a conspiratorial wink, and a pat on the back as they all moved to get back on their horses.

“Are you keeping that?” Will said to Roger. “I thought we’d agreed you were giving that up.”

“What?” Roger demurred innocently.

“What? The mustache is what.” Will teased.

“You don’t like it? I think it suits me.” Roger said proudly, pulling on one end of the mustache. “Besides, it was the beard I gave up, this I’m keeping.”

Will and Fulke exchanged a look and a laugh. It wasn’t much of a mustache.

“What are you doing all the way down here anyway?” Will turned to Luke as their horses trotted down the path.

“It got too hot in the north for anyone named Scarlett,” Luke said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. The Sheriff of Nottingham made sure our name was spread around with a right proper reward after dad stood up to him and you tried to kill him. If there’s anyone I blame it on, it’s Vasey ”

Will involuntarily stiffened at the Sheriff of Nottingham’s name. One day he and Guy of Gisborne would answer for all they’d done. He only hoped he would be there to see it.

Once on the road, the party again broke up into two groups, Edmund, Conrad and Cecil, rode ahead with Roger as chaperone, while Fulke followed with the now inseparable Will and Luke Scarlett.

“What do we call him?” Fulke asked Will.

“Call me?” Luke asked. 

“The King has given Will a new name. He’s set him up as the heir to a Saxon noble in the north.”

“Who?” Luke asked, stunned. “And why?”

“King Richard thinks it will be easier for me to get support from the nobles if they think I am one,” Will said.

“That’s why we’re here, to pave the way for Richard’s return to England.”

“Just in time! Things are getting worse by the day,” Luke said. “Prince John is bleeding us dry.”

“Richard has renamed Will. He’s now Wilfred of Ivanhoe, son of Cedric.”

“Wilfred of Ivanhoe, I’ve heard of him! He ran away from home and followed Richard to the Holy Land. It was a huge scandal. His father, Cerdic,” Luke said pointedly, “was really angry. He refused to even let anyone speak Wilfred’s name aloud in front of him. What happened to him?”

“He died in the Holy Land. Will’s to take his place.”

“Does Cerdic know that?”

“Oh yes, Will’s to provide him with grandchildren,” Fulke grinned.

“We’ll have to find someone willing to shag him first.” Luke teased. “And that’s no small doing!” 

You might be surprised, Fulke smiled to himself. Ah, brotherly love.

“Oh yeah?” Will took a swipe in the air at Luke, making him lean away laughing.

“Yeah,” Luke enjoyed the angry glance Will gave him. “If he’s Wilfred of Ivanhoe, then who am I?” 

“The bastard son,” Will shot.

“That’s not far off is it?” Luke chuckled.

“What do you mean?” Fulke asked.

“Our mother was the illegitimate daughter of the old Earl of Huntingdon,” Will explained.

“So, you’re Robin’s cousin?”

“Exactly.”

Fulke grunted, unsurprised. Bastard male children had some little standing in society, but illegitimate female offspring, even of nobles, had none.

London had little to recommend itself to Will. It was a dirty, noisy, fetid cesspool, and nothing compared to the clean, sophisticated cities in the Holy Land. But between them all, Will still preferred his small home in South Yorkshire. 

Fulke held the opposite opinion. He found the grungy earthiness of London an invigorating change. He gloried in being back in England. To him, the city was young, alive and vibrant; a growing, ever changing hub of excitement.

They stayed one night in London before they parted ways. Roger, Conrad and Cecil were staying in London for several days. Conrad and Cecil both had family to see, and Roger was going to contact friends, hopefully finding support for King Richard.

After a day he saw what a daunting task it was. His friends, whilst first delighted to see Roger, quickly turned cautious and wary. They told him Prince John had spies everywhere. 

Truth to tell, he felt that he was being watched.

Roger changed Inns every day on Will’s advice; he was also careful never to take the same route twice.

On the night before they rode into London, Roger overheard a private moment between Luke and Edmund. “My brother’s too trusting,” Luke said and as Roger lay in the dark listening to them, he knew that Luke was right.

“They seem like good blokes,” Edmund murmured drowsily.

“They are, but Prince John has money and pull in England that Richard doesn’t – that he can’t have from so far away in the Holy Land. All John has to do is threaten someone’s family...”

“We’re all sworn to follow Wilfred,” Roger hissed. He felt Luke jerk in surprise.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” Luke apologised. “I just think my brother’s a little blind to human nature sometimes.”

“You might be surprised.”

“You mean Allan-A-Dale? No, I think that hardly dented Will’s opinion of him. Allan did come around in the end, and honestly finding out that Allan served money over principle was hardly surprising,” Luke said.

“It’s more,” Roger offered. “The war was hard on us all. There were spies and intrigues everywhere we turned, especially among our allies. The Norman-English learned they couldn’t trust even their French brethren. Will saw it all, he was a soldier and fighter, a warrior, not some concubine of Richard’s.”

“What?”

Oops, Roger thought. They lapsed into silence for a long moment. Edmund began to snore. At least one of us can sleep, Roger sighed.

“Be careful in London,” Luke said softly. “Even of your friends. England under John is treacherous.”

They lay in silence for a long time. Roger was uncomfortably aware of Luke’s body near him.

“Really,” Luke asked finally, “King Richard? That’s one for the books.”

The following morning, Roger was talking to the Innkeeper, and only half paying attention, this was the Inn he, Conrad and Cecil had agreed to meet in wasn’t it?

“And sir, would you be needing a bath?” The portly, scarred old man asked. The man stank but was pleasant enough, and after months on the road Roger wasn’t casting aspersions.

“A bath?” Roger asked stupidly.

“Yes, there’s a tub in your room. I can have the girl fill it for you and tend to you,” the Innkeeper said with meaning. He turned and indicated a young woman. “Or I can send the groom to help you,” he finished deliberately, without any added emphasis, but Roger caught it nonetheless.

“Send the stable hand, that’s fine,” Roger said quickly, trying to keep his voice level. When he’d quartered his horse in the stables, he’d got a long look at the young man. He was long and rangy, and looked as if he always needed a meal. Roger’s throat caught.

In his room he sat on his bed and waited nervously as the groom filled the tub with hot water. He was clean at least, Roger noted. The Innkeeper must have made him wash quickly before sending him upstairs.

As Roger disrobed and sank into the hot tub he tried not to look at the young man. I can’t be nervous, he thought. I fought by Kind Richard’s side against the infidels! I’m a noble, it is well within my prerogative to have my way with this – stable hand!

Then he looked at the handsome young man, who was fine-featured with a mop of unruly dark hair. Roger stood and climbed out of the tub, letting the groom dry him. 

I have to be careful, he told himself. This could be a perverse trap of John’s. I can’t let...

He ran a hand through the thick hair, making the groom look up to him. Cupping a hand under the stable hand’s jaw, Roger ran a thumb over the pursed lips. 

“What’s your name?” Roger asked.

“Henry,” the youth said and began to suckle Roger’s thumb. 

Roger gasped. Surely no trap could be this perverse, this delightful! Do I give in to temptation? Do I push him away?

On his own, the stable hand moved on to Roger’s stiffening cock. Roger moaned as he gave in to temptation. He spent the rest of the night giving in to it, exploring Henry’s strong, lean body, and being explored in return.

It was first light when a sharp voice woke him up.

“Is this what you’ve been up to?” Conrad said with evident glee in his voice.

Roger sat up straight with a bolt of shock.

“Where the hell have you been?” He asked. Clambering out of bed, he found his breeches and fought to get them on.

“A whorehouse,” Conrad grinned.

“I thought you were visiting your family.”

“I did. Worst four hours of my life. After that it was straight to the whorehouse. Although apparently you might have satisfied my needs,” Conrad smirked knowingly, “I caught the stable hand on the way out.”

Roger glared at him in warning, pulling on his boots.

“Keep your hair-shirt on. I’ve enjoyed the Greek vice once or twice myself. He is a pretty one. I wouldn’t mind enjoying him as well. What do you call him, ‘it’ or ‘thing’?”

“His name is Henry.”

“I was joking. I can’t believe you asked his name. That’s not good!” Conrad warned clearly enjoying the turn of events. “You never ask the whores their names.”

“He’s not a whore. Where did he go?” Roger pulled his tunic over his head.

“The stable, I imagine.”

Roger looked out of the window. There were two men across the street. He could have sworn he’d seen them before.

“Where’s Cecil?”

“Waiting for us in the woods just outside of town,” Conrad said.

“Get my things together and meet me in the stables.”

“I’m not really in the mood for a ménage à trois, so soon. My cock’s still sore.” Conrad pulled at his tented pouch. Roger rolled his eyes.

“We’re leaving; I think you may have been followed. Look out of the window.” Grabbing his cloak Roger ran out of the room and down the stairs.

Conrad peaked outside and saw the two men. Damn, I wish it had been a ménage à trois, he thought. Looking to the door where Roger had run out, he began packing the older man’s gear into his kit bag. 

Conrad thought about the stable hand and smiled. This was quite fun. Right and proper young master Godberd enjoying himself with the help. And a stable hand that just happens to look a bit like Will Scarlett, at that! I wonder what Fulke will make of it?

Roger ran into the stable frantically looking around. Henry was brushing down a horse.

“I have to go,” Roger said apologetically.

Henry nodded and moved to start saddling Roger’s horse. Roger grabbed his hands.

“Come with me.”

“Why?”

“What do you have here?”

“The Innkeeper has my bond. I’m working off a debt, for my father.”

“I doubt your father would want you doing this.”

“Lucky for him then, he’s dead.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I don’t have any choice, sirrah. It’s this or be an outlaw,” Henry said.

“Come with me and be an outlaw then. I fight for King Richard,” Roger said, his chest swelling with pride.

Henry smiled, turned away and walked to the back of the stable, pulling off his tunic as he did. Roger watched the pale moons of the younger man’s bum move away from him.

“You are going to be trouble,” Roger said, and followed Henry deeper into the stable.

Minutes later they were interrupted by shouts. The two men Roger had seen on the street were pulling a struggling Conrad from the Inn.

“Jesu,” Roger said and crossed himself. He ran into the back of the barn, Henry was a step ahead of him saddling up his horse. Roger saddled Conrad’s horse. Looking up he saw a bow and a quiver of arrows.

“You shoot?” Roger asked in delight.

“Of course, I was a country boy. Everyone shoots in the country.” Henry smiled, a glow lighting his face.

“I like that smile. A smiling country boy who can shoot, you’ll do nicely,” Roger said, pulling the bow down and slinging the quiver on his back.

“Grab that red blanket, wear it like a cloak,” he instructed. “When I let loose the first arrow, ride out and grab Conrad. Get out of the city and down the west road, don’t stop until you get to the first town. I’ll catch up to you.”

Conrad was struggling against the two men with all his might, but it did little good. They managed to get him out and into the yard, but not without waking the whole Inn.

In the courtyard in front of the stables, two more men joined his assailants. The newcomers were soldiers, making the odds four to one. Just great, Conrad thought, where the hell is Roger? If only he had managed to get his sword drawn before they sprang on him in the room.

Two men held his arms whilst a third punched him in the stomach. The fourth stood back watching. The Innkeeper and several patrons held close to the wall looking on in fear.

There was a sharp cry, and everyone looked up just as an oil lantern landed on the ground between the soldiers. The oil and fire spread quickly moving the men back, still holding Conrad firmly.

Turning to the stables they saw a hooded man in the doorway. His bow was drawn. Before they could move, it was loosed. 

Arrows struck the two men holding Conrad, one quickly after the other. The hooded man stepped aside as a second man in a scarlet cloak, and riding a horse burst from the stable. Later people would even swear that the man and horse had been on fire. 

The remaining two soldiers staggered back as the horse stopped sharply beside Conrad. The beast bridled and threatened to rear, but Henry held on. He pulled a stunned Conrad up with an arm and a shout.

Arrows struck the remaining soldiers, as Conrad and Henry rode away down the street. There was stunned silence in the courtyard.

Seconds later Roger strode out of the stables, leading the second horse. He retrieved his arrows from where they had struck. Two men dead, one wounded on the ground, and the last wounded and scuttled away into the Inn.

As he yanked his arrow out of the wounded man in the yard Roger gave him a jaunty smile.

“Tell them it was Robin Hood and his men,” Roger said, climbing onto the horse.

“Robin Hood?” The bleeding man stuttered. Murmurs ran through the small crowd.

“Robin Hood and Will Scarlett,” Roger grinned broadly, pulling on his mustache. With a wave to the crowd, he drove the horse out into the morning.


End file.
